


With Love

by Toryb



Series: Dear Angel [3]
Category: Archie Comics, Archie Comics & Related Fandoms, Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Angst, Dark!Jughead, F/M, Oral Sex, Rough Oral Sex, Sociopath!Jughead, Time for Jughead's tragic backstory, cliff hanger, it involves a little sister, serial killer!jughead
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-26
Updated: 2017-10-26
Packaged: 2019-01-23 18:41:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12513860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Toryb/pseuds/Toryb
Summary: The men she loves are one in the same: that should be the end of the complications. But when Jughead opens up about his very first murder, it might be hard to commit to someone with such darkness.





	With Love

**Author's Note:**

> Here it is. Jughead's tragic backstory. I am far FAR from done with writing this series, I have so many ideas left! I hope you guys enjoy the third installment. I'm not 100% thrilled with how this one came out. I had a hard time getting through it since it's significantly more dialogue heavy than the others. I hope the tone still stands and you all like it. I just want to say thank you again for the AMAZING support I have received on this series so far. I appreciate it more than anything. I likely won't be able to update it again until Monday or Tuesday because I have a friend coming to stay the weekend with me!
> 
> Warning: Not graphic, but there is mentions of murder, two of them specifically.
> 
> Come find me on tumblr @tory-b

Dinner lay on the table, long since forgotten as Jughead’s hungry mouth found other sweet pleasures to delight in. His angel withered above him, hand tangled in the dark curls of his hair as his tongue flittered across her swollen clit. It was impossible to tell just how long he had spent between her legs. Minutes, hours, days, years. All that was certain in his mind was that he never wanted to leave.

Betty had never been so thoroughly ravaged before. Even in their most intimate of moments, he had never pulled her to the edge this strongly, this many times. Her body ached, shivering as his greedy fingers curled up against her tender walls. He knew where to touch, where to stroke to elicit the most beautiful moans from her swollen lips.

“J-Jughead,” she panted. Her hips wouldn’t stop though, rocking against his mouth, “C-can’t. N-no more.”

“You can and you will,” he growled against her skin, biting down until white turned to purple under his rough affections. “One more time. I need to watch you one more time.”

Unraveling the temptress before him ignited a fire in his soul that even the most intricate of kills could not mimic. A new kind of prey had entered his world, and he, the dedicated hunter, ached to dominate such a gentle creature. Even in the most sinful of moments, Betty was nothing but beauty. When her finish came, one final time, her body collapsed into his arms.

Her limits had been met and exceeded, the shake of her small frame told him that much. It was for the best. A broken doll was much easier to hold. Satisfied at last, the dark beast within him subsided.

She was so soft, curled into the groove of his side. A gentle angel with a spotless mind. He hungered for that innocence, that purity. In the corrupt underworld of New York City, he had found the one shining beacon of goodness. Truly it must have been fate that had led her here, to someone who could keep her clean. Even if it meant a world painted in blood, Jughead knew he would protect her.

“What are you thinking about?” Betty’s voice was tired, her breath tingled the hairs on the back of his neck.

Gently, he let his fingertips brush through her hair. It was tangled from the rabid intimacy of their love making. He had ravished her, and now they lay curled together on her couch, skin on sweaty skin.

“You.”

A single word made her body flush brighter than it had all evening. It made him laugh. The littlest things sent her into a tizzy. Everything she did only served to endear him more to the angel in his arms.

Betty wiggled closer, taking his hand to trace along his fingertips. They were not as calloused as she had expected them to be. No, for a man who was framed in such a terrible light, even the pads of his fingers were soft.

“Juggie…Will you tell me about the first time you…you killed someone?” there was hesitation in her voice. This was a wall once broken down could never be built again. She would know the depths of it all, what the root of the darkness strangling him was. “It’s the only story of yours I don’t know.”

He stilled and for a brief moment, she was terrified she had pushed too far. The silence felt hallow. Something crept from the shadows, stitching them together as he pulled her into his lap. There was no escape. His world was now hers.

“I grew up on the wrong side of the tracks. My dad was an alcoholic who ran a gang: the Southside Serpents. I was always a loner, didn’t have many friends if you can believe it,” his laugh was cold. “My mom left right after my little sister was born. She couldn’t stand to look at us. I think we reminded her too much of dad. I was fifteen when it happened.

“I raised my sister. She was everything to me. And she was…Betty she was amazing,” when his voice cracked she couldn’t turn to soothe him. She felt the tears fall to her bare shoulder and a wave of sorrow hit her. His tale would not be a happy one. “Precocious. That’s the best word I think. Innocent. Good. She was in third grade and decided she wanted to stay after school and tutor the kindergarteners. I thought it was kind of dumb, like a horse trying to teach math to a dog or something, but she was so insistent. So, I let her.”

Jughead held her tighter. Betty didn’t speak, she wasn’t meant to. This was a moment to listen.

“I ran late picking her up one day. Work the night before had beat me down and I overslept. It was only thirty minutes. I was expecting her to be there, whining at me about having to stand out in the cold but she…she was gone.

“The police didn’t help. They fumbled over each other, lost evidence, acted like I was crazy. They followed my dad around, said it was probably him because he had a criminal record. But I knew, I knew it wasn’t.

“Two weeks. That’s how long it took them to find her body: thrown into a ditch off the highway. She was cold. So fucking cold.”

He remembered her eyes most. Nothing had ever seemed so blue, alight with an inquisitive fire it was impossible to match. His little sister’s world was full of discovery, joy, laughter, until it was unceremoniously snuffed out. The night he came to identify her body, those familiar eyes were not hers anymore. Now, they were empty. Hallow. And the ghosts she swore kept her up at night were not real, except the one’s now haunting his living nightmare.

The rest of his story was not a fairytale either. It read more like a horror novel. A man, angry at the world and hungry for darkness had stumbled across his bright-eyed sister. It was a shame, the police said, there wasn’t enough evidence to convict him. It was purely circumstantial. This came as no surprise to Jughead Jones, who had lived so long on the wrong side of the law. They didn’t want to help him, so he would help himself.

A window open, an unregistered revolver, and a demon who would never harm a soul again. His first kill was not as beautiful as the others. This was a crime of passion, of retribution and righted wrongs. But the blood had not scared him like he had thought. Instead, it invigorated him. No more pain, no more suffering, just a corpse who could be something better.

His staging left something to be desired. Jughead looked back upon the shoddy handiwork with an air of disgust. There was no metaphor, no thinly veiled message. It was a cover up. The note he had scrawled wasn’t a beautiful poem, dedicated to an exquisite angel, but a foraged suicide note.

“How very Heathers of me,” Jughead recounted, a dark chuckle slipping off his tongue. “But I couldn’t leave well enough alone. Guilt got the better of me and I found myself at a dinner, writing on the back of a napkin. I sent it in under a fake name and the rest. Well the rest you know.”

“Why did you keep doing it?” Betty asked after a quiet moment.

“Because I am a very, very bad man.”

At last their eyes met. The darkness had consumed him. No longer was there the innocent sweetness of the young man who had wooed in her in the coffee shop. He flipped so easily, between her lover and her ghost. It frightened her, but the wetness between her thighs was hard to ignore.

“Will you be bad to me?” she whispered against his lips.

For the rest of the night he devoured her. Every inch of her flesh was his to consume. Her body, her mind, it belonged solely to him now. She had stepped foot into the deafening darkness and she never wanted to leave. Feelings, thoughts, she never dared to have before now enveloped her. How far would she go? Hide the truth for him? Hurt for him? Kill for him?

As Jughead pushed inside her again, the movement rough enough to shake her to the core, she decided yes, she would. Whatever this man wanted from her he could take and take and take until there was nothing left.

That night, he watched his angel sleep, her hair a golden halo of innocence. Her body was bruised, defiled by his touch. Perhaps he should have turned around, left her to live a far better life than the one he offered. But he was greedy, and when their bodies met he felt clean. No one else deserved her tenderness. They would only exploit the kindness in her heart.

Nearly an hour ago, in a groggy haze, Betty had begged him for a cup of tea. It always helped her sleep, she claimed. No doubt the medicine he had slipped in would too. Sound asleep, she lay in his arms, unaware that tomorrow when she awoke, this little caged bird would sing only for him at last.


End file.
